


Facing It

by acclaimedwriter



Category: Casualty (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 20:51:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21434527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acclaimedwriter/pseuds/acclaimedwriter
Summary: Duffy’s convinced she’s got dementia, even more convinced after failing the memory test. [Set directly after series 33, episode 19, an extended scene if you like]
Relationships: Lisa "Duffy" Duffin/Charlie Fairhead
Kudos: 4





	Facing It

“I’ve got it, haven’t I?”

It been dementia. That vile disease that strips you of your identity, robs you of your memories, of all the things that make you, who you are.

Three words, that’s all she had to recall. Garden, spoon and….? Why was the final word a blank? Why couldn’t she remember? Her breathing became more erratic as she struggled to remember the final word. The key word in all of this.

The Doctor watched as the woman fell to pieces in front of her. She’d merely suggested the memory test to reassure her patient and it had failed judging by the reaction of the older woman.

“Lisa, deep breath in and then out.”

A panic attack. Probably one of many Lisa had experienced since her depression and anxiety diagnosis three months ago. Duffy struggled at focusing on her breathing, the fear of dementia wrapping itself around her insides.

“In through your nose, and out through your mouth. Focus on my voice.”

It was gentle but firm. Duffy took a deep breath in, desperate to control her breathing. Within minutes, her rapid breathing had lessened and her chest wasn’t rising as erratically.

“You don’t have dementia.”

Duffy’s head shot up, wiping the tears away from her cheeks, meeting the eye of her GP.

“What?”

“You don’t have dementia.”

She repeated and Duffy frowned. Of course she did, she couldn’t remember the word. That word was essential in being diagnosed with it or not. There was a silence between the two.

“Sorry, I’m not quite following. I.. I couldn’t recall the words you asked me at the beginning of the test.”

“You couldn’t recall one.” Isabel pointed out, “which means I have to look at your drawings of a house and a clock. Now in someone with signs of Mild Cognitive Impairment, I’d have expected to see these on the drawings. For example, on the clock the numbers would be slightly off. Not drastically but it would be a small difference, that we’d notice. Now your drawings—“ She picked up the pen and tapped it against the two drawings she’d got Duffy to complete earlier. “Are perfect. I wouldn’t be expecting that level of detail in someone with dementia.”

“So I don’t have dementia?”

“No.”

“How can you be so sure?” She asked, nervously fiddling with the tissue she’d found up her sleeve.

“Of course I can’t be 100% certain, however the fact your CT came back clear and you’ve passed a memory test, reassures me that your symptoms are caused by something else and aren’t dementia related.”

“But I couldn’t remember the word..”

“Do you remember it now?”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The three words she was asked at the beginning of the test were: Garden, Spoon….

“America?”

The doctor nodded and Duffy frowned, “but why couldn’t I remember it before?”

“There are a number of reasons. I put you on the spot, you were clearly anxious or maybe you had simply forgotten. However, if the case was that you’d have forgotten, you wouldn’t be able to recall it to me, now.” Isabel looked at the screen and then back to Duffy, a confused expression still on her face. How could it not be dementia? She had all the signs and symptoms.

“But?” Duffy paused for a second and collected her thoughts, “it keeps happening.. I keep forgetting words in sentences.”

“In my experience Ms Duffin, those with early onset Alzheimer’s do a lot more than forgetting words. I’m assuming it doesn’t happen regularly?”

“No, just every now and again.”

Isabel nodded and looked back at her screen. “There is obviously something going on but I can confidentially rule out dementia.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

Isabel shrugged slightly, “we’ll cross that bridge if it comes to it, shall we?” She typed a few things on the computer, “Now I’d like you to see me again, next week if that’s possible?”

She nodded and a couple of minutes later, she left the consultation room clutching a card with her appointment on it. Monday, 2pm.

Her head was swimming. If it wasn’t dementia, what the hell was going on? If it wasn’t dementia, what actually happened that night with Bill? She swallowed the nausea away and pushed the card into the bottom of her bag.

She’d deal with this on Monday.


End file.
